


Enticing, Entrancing

by Okumen



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Bondage, Extended Bondage, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Overstimulation, Post-Canon, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27482353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okumen/pseuds/Okumen
Summary: Murai smells of old man, Poplin says, but that’s not really right, thinks Dusty. Murai smells of the sheets in his bed, the ones Dusty is rolled up on with his hand down his briefs. The bedsheets are fresh, they smell of the laundry detergent that Murai uses, and of nothing else. Dusty knows the scent well, basks in it when he wears clothes washed in Murais washing machine and masturbates with his face pressed into Murais pillow. It’s what Murai smells like, like fresh laundry and a special cologne that Dusty loves, but couldn’t use himself, because when that scent is too close, itdoesthings to him, stirs heat in his belly and makes the arousal gather in his cock.
Relationships: Dusty Attenborough/Murai
Kudos: 1





	Enticing, Entrancing

**Author's Note:**

> I have spent several hours on this, and it's the middle of the night. I didn't feel like stopping though, and it's been a long time since I've managed to write something so long in one sitting. Chilling with the cats and writing smut, a good night well spent.

Murai smells of old man, Poplin says, but that’s not really right, thinks Dusty. Murai smells of the sheets in his bed, the ones Dusty is rolled up on with his hand down his briefs. The bedsheets are fresh, they smell of the laundry detergent that Murai uses, and of nothing else. Dusty knows the scent well, basks in it when he wears clothes washed in Murais washing machine and masturbates with his face pressed into Murais pillow. It’s what Murai smells like, like fresh laundry and a special cologne that Dusty loves, but couldn’t use himself, because when that scent is too close, it _does_ things to him, stirs heat in his belly and makes the arousal gather in his cock.

He’s waiting for Murai to come back home, he’s meeting with some people that he knows, Dusty doesn’t really know the details, doesn’t really know much of what Murai is up to now that he’s retired and living a stable life planet-side. They don’t interact much outside these walls. He only knows when he lets himself in, and wanders around the house until he inevitably ends up in the older mans bedroom with his hand around his cock.

Dustys eyes are shut, his fingers touching with slow desire.

And he knows the sound of the door unlocking, opening, closing, the footsteps approaching. The hand that wraps around his ankle and rubs against his bare skin. Dusty opens his eyes half-way, peers at the older man who is sitting at the foot of the bed. “One day I’m sure I’ll regret giving you a key,” Murai says, to the grin Dusty sends his way. Dusty licks his lips, bites the bottom one and sees Murais gaze locked on it. Dusty strokes himself harder, his fingers wrapped around the bedsheet below him tightening, and his lips parts to spill sounds out. “Sir,” he moans, and he knows that it hits hard in Murais cock when he breathes that word out _just like that_. “ _Sir._ ”

Murai moves, and Dusty finds him on top of him, straddling him. “On your stomach, Attenborough,” he says, “And take your hand out of your trousers.” A shiver runs through Dusty, all the way from his scalp, down his spine, to his tail bone. The way that Murai says his name when they’re like this, with the expectation of being obeyed - though they both retired from the military years ago now - and the authority that a day-to-day Dusty wouldn’t always have listened to on Iserlohn unless it was necessary, the authority of the position the man had once held in the former Free Planets Alliance space fleet, the way he would tolerate _no objections_. It turned Dusty on, and maybe he sometimes, when they still lived on Iserlohn, caught within the threat of the large Imperial fleets constant presence after their flight from Heinessen that night long ago, then maybe he had purposefully ignored the reprimands out in public, to enjoy the reprimands he would later face in the bedroom.

Dusty pulls his hand from his underwear, and he rolls over onto his stomach. Murai guides them above his head, spread out and fisted in the crisp bedsheets. Murai rubs his crotch against Dustys rear end, and Dusty can feel a casual hardness, one that wouldn’t be breached further without outside stimuli. Dusty licks his lips. He wants Murais cock in his mouth, but he also wants it in his ass.

Murai gives him neither. He tells Dusty to be still and then he moves his hands so he has better purchase and more easily can rub his clothed cock against Dustys rear. There are too many layers between them, and Dusty whines. He wants skin on skin, but there are four layers hindering that and Murai isn’t changing it, while Dusty can’t, without moving too much. “Sirrr,” Dusty pleads, but it earns him a slap on the ass and a reprimand. “No complaining, boy,” and being called _boy_ does things to him, too. He takes a fold of the sheet near his mouth between his teeth, and he tries to keep still but he wants more than what he’s getting.

The strokes against his rear are slow and steady, Murai keeps even pace and pressure, and he mumbles “good boy,” when he feels Dusty remain still even though his body strained against his force of will. Dusty lets out a keening whine. He likes that. He likes being praised like that. He wants to be called a good boy even more even though he is already well over thirty-five. Murais grip is firm on his hips, squeezing just a bit too tightly. Dusty is feeling the heat rise, feels it pool and his body curls against his will upward, toward Murai above him, as he despite the lack of what he actually wants - the taste of Murais cock on his tongue, the thrust of it in his ass - orgasms, hands curling tightly against the fabric in them, teeth pulling the sheet askew when he don’t release it as his body moves.

He is roughly shoved back into the mattress, and Dusty yelps because his body is still tense with the orgasm, still wants to draw taut like a bowstring, but he’s held in place by Murai, who is strong for his age but not for his former profession.

Murai leans down, and the bed is creaking a bit with the shift in weight. Dusty can feel his erection, still not near full mast in his trousers, rub against him. “Didn’t I tell you to be still, Attenborough?” Dusty blinks slowly, the haze in his eyes dissipating a bit. “‘m sorry sir, I’ll do better next time.” Murai grasps at Dustys hair, just a bit too tightly, and brushes it aside to have a clearer view of Dustys flushed face. “I’ll hold you to that, boy,” he assures him, and Dusty lets out a little moan as another shiver races down his spine. “For now, though, you have come at an inopportune time.” Dusty gives Murai a quizzical look, and moves to push himself up when Murai moves off of him. A hand stops him, and he lays back down. “I’m having guests over soon, so I can’t entertain you.” Dusty watches him rise from the bed, while he lays where he had been as Murai slowly humped him, and he listens to him talk. “In the meantime, you will need to wait.” Murai opens a drawer in his closet, and Dusty feels his insides churn with excitement and heat rise in his cheeks. He knows that that is Murais toy box, and that he regularly adds a new thing or other to it. He keeps it locked with a key, so Dusty can’t find out what’s new before it’s used on him. “Will you leave me anything to entertain my self with, sir?”

Murai glances over at Dusty, who can see the blindfold that he takes out. It’s a simple one, one that he uses while he prepares a surprise for Dusty, and Dusty obediently, _eagerly_ , slides it on and ties it in place himself, as Murai regards what else he has in the drawer. 

_The cuffs,_ Dusty thinks, as he hears a distinct clicking noise. “Turn toward me,” he hears Murai say, and he turns, sitting up in the bed. He feels Murais fingers start to unbutton his shirt, and he starts to say, “I can-” but he’s shot down. “You only do as I tell you, and nothing else.” Dusty smiles, and remains still. A doll for Murai to order around, to do as he pleas with. Dusty feels his cock strain against his soaked underwear. He hopes they come off, because the coldness feels nasty. But he can’t ask, or rush, only wait. He moans as Murai pinches one of his nipples, exposed to the air just barely, as his shirt is not unbuttoned all the way down, or completely untucked from his trousers. “Sir,” he breathes out, when a small suction cup pulls in his nipple. Murai hushes him, as he caresses Dustys face. “Quiet now,” he urges. The other cup follows, and Dusty regrets that he _still_ hasn’t gotten them pierced because what a feeling _that_ would be.

Dusty feels Murais hands on his crotch, hears him unzip the front. Feels it, too, with the way that his cock strains against the fabric. Murai kneads his cock, and to Dusty, it’s a struggle to not let the needy moans pour out of his throat. It only lasts for a few moments; Murai knows when Dusty is close to the edge, and he doesn’t allow it this time. He retreats, leaving Dusty sitting there, his nipples sucked on by the little cups, his cock sucking up the chill through the wet spot on the front. Dusty hears Murai rummage around among his toys, hears him pause to consider one, then move on to the next.

After a while though, he returns to Dustys side, and Dusty can hear a clicking. A Hitachi, maybe? No, that doesn’t sound right. Too much plastic on plastic, he thinks.

Dusty hisses with need when Murai unceremoniously frees his cock from his briefs. He can feel the head bounce up against his shirt, skim a button, then droop a little, hard though it is. Its twitching, and leaking. Murai grasps it, but not to stroke. Instead, he slips something unfamiliar onto it, a tube that envelopes it in its entirety, and Dusty feels it tighten a bit around the base. Like the suction cups around his nipples, he determines after a few moments, as Murai adjusts the thing. It doesn’t restrict anything, only locks around it, kept in place, and Dusty wonders about it, what it’s meant to do. His cock twitches against the walls of the plastic tube, and he knows that one thing it does is make it impossible to touch it directly, skin to skin.

“Lie down on your stomach. Carefully, Attenborough.” Dusty didn’t really need to be told to be careful about it, but he likes it either way. He slides slowly onto his stomach, mindful about the nipple cups and the cock tube. “Raise your hips.” As he does so, Murai shifts around underneath him, and when Dusty lowers back down, one hand slid underneath to make sure the tube doesn’t get skewed as it is positioned downward, he feels another, softer but not so soft it gets squished underneath his body, tube, a long one that seems to disappear off to the side, attached to the hard tube around his cock. Murai shifts around for a little while, then Dusty hears the clicking of chains. “Open your mouth.” He obeys, and the familiar taste of metal meets his tongue. His lips strain, as a gag is slid between his lips and teeth, then widened so he can’t close his mouth, and the gag can’t be pulled out. Murai pulls at one of his arms, stretching it out, and Dusty feels the leather of one of the cuffs tighten around his wrists. Then the other, and his arms are locked in place, spread out toward the corners of the bed. Murai moves, and he bends Dustys legs, cuff attached around his ankles, the other end, on a short chain, perhaps on simple carbine hooks, attached to Dustys belt. Another set of cuffs are attached his his knees, and his legs are spread apart with a bar. Dusty wonders which one, and he hopes for the one that can force his legs apart even further, though he knows it makes him too sore to move to have his legs pried apart much more than they already are. He feels a firm pull, and knows that the spreader bar is attached to the bottom of the bed, making it impossible for him to move his body up to relax the pull on his arms.

He feels Murais weight shift on the bed, and then he blinks as light floods his vision, temporarily blinding him again. He blinks sweetly up at Murai, but he knows he looks obscene, with his mouth wide open and his tongue uncertain of what to do with itself. He lets his gaze pointedly dart between Murais eyes, and his crotch, making it obvious that he wants his cock in his mouth now, please. Murai grabs at Dustys hair, and tugs. Dusty lets out a pathetic whine. _Harder,_ he pleads with his eyes, but Murai instead releases him. “Now, Attenborough. While my guests are here, I want you to remain silent. You wouldn’t want anyone to hear you and come looking, would you?” Dusty whines, and Murai arches an eyebrow. “Or perhaps you would. But it’s not up to you to decide who fucks you. Don’t forget who you belong to.” Dusty moans in response, a garbled “you do” attempting to find its way out his wide-open mouth. Murai caressed his cheek, still understanding Dustys attempt at words. “And the door doesn’t have any lock, so remember, anyone can walk in here, I can’t stop that. If they come investigating, I can’t be responsible for what happens. That’s on you.” Dusty nods. His crotch is as eager as the sounds in his throat to make itself known that it wants anything Murai chooses to throw his way. Murai has never steered him wrong this far. _Everything_ he does feels some level of amazing, no matter what it is. “That’s a good boy,” Murai says, giving his cheek another soft stroke.

Another blindfold is slipped in place, this time a more form one, that won’t come undone without outside help, and Dustys vision turns entirely black. He feels Murai shift. Backwards, he thinks. Then he feels a hand on his chin, and lets it be angled up, so that his throat is stretched straight. He feels something on his tongue. Silicone, cool and pliant and firm. It slides along his tongue slowly, bit by bit. He coughs around his, gags a little when it breaches his pharynx, and feels his muscles work automatically as it slips deeper and deeper into his throat. It’s not particularly thick at the tip, but it’s long. _Very_ long. He understands why Murai angled his face before sliding it inside his mouth. It’s too long to let him comfortably curve his neck with it inside. Like this, he doesn’t need any of those wonderful posture collars to keep his neck straight. It goes so deep that he wonders if it might even reach the branching between his lungs, but it’s probably not entirely _that_ long. Though that would be an experience, too. What would it feel like to have cum spill straight into his lungs? Dangerous, he’d bet. Thrilling. Exhilarating. But that’s a question for later and besides, it doesn’t actually breach his airway, it’s going down toward his stomach, not his lungs.

All sound disappears. He can’t even hear himself breathe. At least he can hear his own muffled voice- in a sense. He can feel the vibrations, knows them in his head, but he can’t hear if the sounds that he makes are loud or not.

Murai moves our of the bed, then Dusty has no idea where he is. If he’s still in the room, watching him, or if he’s left already.

Still present, Dusty learns, when a hand presses down on his buttock. The pressure in his rear is strange and unfamiliar, and shocked, hea realises that Murai has cut open the bottom of his trousers. That is rare. Very rare. It happens with his underwear sometimes, and he has to return home commando, but never has Murai cut open his actual trousers before. It’s impossible to tell how much he cuts away, and he doesn’t cut into the underwear Dusty wears this time. Instead, he finds the hem and he pulls them downward. The cool liquid of one of the many types of lubes that Murai keeps is pressed into Dustys anus, and for a moment or two, Murai slips a finger inside to spread the lube around. Dusty moans needily, wanting more, much, much more inside of him. In response, the finger withdraws, and he receives a slap to his ass. He feels Murai wipe the lube from his hand and onto Dustys trousers. Then something new breaches his ring of muscles, something cold, hard, thin, and long. He doesn’t know that one, either. Murai has done a bit of shopping since last time, clearly. Dusty wants to squirm, but he can barely move with the restraints keeping him in place. He must have moaned far too loudly, because he is given another slap on the rear.

Then. Nothing.

And suddenly there is so much. He feels a spark, almost, in his rectum. His muscles contracts, and he knows he releases a loud sound even before the hand strikes his clothed buttock. There is a strange feeling around his cock, too. A slow pulsing, a sort of vacuum around it that increases to an almost painful degree, then suddenly disappears completely.

Dusty is disoriented, confused. He doesn’t know what just happened. There is some sort of mechanism to the cock tube that makes the pressure increase and decrease slowly. And then--- and then there is the sudden, sporadic spark of- of- it’s electricity, he realises, about the fourth time he is shocked from deep within. It’s not a lot of voltage, but it’s certainly enough to be felt, to send the flash of lightning through his body. It is difficult to keep track of his voice with it releasing those flashes inside of him, and try as he might, he can’t pin down the timing of the blasts. Is there a timing that he is missing, because the blasts are simply too much? Does Murai have a switch, that lets him send a shock through Dusty whenever he wants to? There are other options, surely, but Dustys mind grows clouded soon, and he loses the inability to count. He can’t try to keep track of when the next blasts comes, he can only try not to squeal loudly with pleasure each time it hits him like a tidal wave that carries with it his orgasm.

Murai didn’t put any clamps around his balls or his cock, nothing except that tube, and it does nothing to keep Dusty from orgasming again, and again, and again.

He loses track quickly, his muddled minds last strands of consciousness occupied with attempting to keep his voice down, but he has no idea if he is successful or not. All he knows is pleasure, pain, waves of both intertwining like a braid of sensations.

How long is it that he lays there, long dildo in his throat, a stick of electricity up his ass, immobilised by the simple but effective restraints? He has no idea, and he doesn’t care, either. All he wants is more, more. More of the stimuli of the electricity, more of the false cock in his throat, more pressure on his limbs. But even more than that, he wants to be touched. He wants Murai to grind against him the way he did before, he wants him to rub his cock against his face, to have his weight press down on top of him.

But none of that comes, there is the endless feeling of orgasm after orgasm that carries his mind further and further into the depths, and there is the yearning for a release that isn’t forced to keep coming and coming. But he isn’t given any of that. He just lays there, feels himself grow closer to the point of passing out from the stimulation, which is far too much to bear the longer it keeps going on.

How long are Murais guests going to stay? How long until he returns to Dusty, to save him from his prison of pleasure? He loves it, being trapped like this, with no escape and no release from his releases, but he at the same time hates it, because what he wants is _Murai_ , and Murai is somewhere else- right? Or is he here, watching Dusty suffer the onslaught of pleasure that makes him feel like he might permanently lose his mind? Is he just out of reach, or is he miles away?

He thinks he’s crying. He wants Murai right there with him, wants him to give him attention, to free him, to imprison him forever, to fuck him rough and hard, to just be there, holding his hand, _anything_ so long as he’s there. But he isn’t and Dusty weeps with yearning, and he can taste his tears mix with the saliva in his mouth. He has probably already cried during this. Sometimes, when the pleasure is too much, he does that. But not like this, with the insistent build of pleasure slowly growing properly painful, without the touch that he so desperately wants.

Dusty forgets himself. His mind is only on Murai, on his want to have him touch him, and his ears are pounding with the sound of his blood. The sound of his voice, muffled and dull, tries to compete with his heartbeat, but in his mind - what little of it there still is left - Dusty thinks that it’s not loud enough, that nothing is louder than his own heart, than his own rushing blood, which is filled with desire and need and _desperation_.

Then, suddenly, there is the softest touch among the stimuli of the toys that has been torturing him with their onslaught of pleasure, and Dusty blacks out.

* * *

When he comes to, he blinks at the brightness of the lamp. Beside him, Murai is leaning against his pillow, and Dusty is pressed against his legs. His skin is tingling all over, and he is extremely aware of the fabric of the soft sheet touching his bare skin, of the rougher fabric of Murais pajamas against it, too. Every little shift, even those caused by his own breathing, has Dusty whimpering pitifully. He can feel _everything_ , he can _hear_ everything. The hand that dips into his hair very nearly makes him come on the spot- except he can’t. Dusty carefully moves, removing one arm from where its wrapped around Murais leg, and he touches himself. He whimpers and moans, and it doesn’t help that he can feel Murais gaze on him, surely leveled at him across the rim of his reading glasses. He finds a metal ring around the base of his balls, and he whimpers, angles his head just a little - his throat is sore and raw, and it hurts to move it - and he makes a whining, questioning noise, instead of simply asking. His throat won’t allow for that right now, he feels. Murai turns a page in the book that he’s reading, before he says anything. “I didn’t want you to spoil the sheets further.” Dusty whimpers, a complaint and an acknowledgement all at once. He licks his lips, and they’re sore, after so much time spread open as far as possible. Murai pats the pillow next to him, clearly prepared for Dusty to rest on. “Come up here, and have something to drink.”

It takes time for Dusty to move the short distance up, but eventually he is leaning against the headboard and pillow next to Murai. He tries to grasp the cup in one hand, then in two, but it’s still too much for him, and Murai has to help him drink. Dusty makes a face at the taste, it’s not very pleasant, but he drinks anyway, until he has drained the cup of its content. Murais touch is large pinpricks of pleasure, and it was right of Murai to have him wear the ring. Dusty would have soiled the sheets with his cum several times over since waking already, if not for it. “What-” he croaks, and he winces, not because of the way his voice sounds, but because of the way his throat feels. He simply breathes for a while, until his throat feels more manageable, though still raw and painful. “Wha’s that?” He motions toward the cup with a slow nod. Murai strokes the inside of Dustys wrist gently, and Dusty moans. “Your sperm. Mixed with some vodka.” Dusty feels his face flush. “Why d’you even have that?” Murai still strokes, and Dusty feels it is torture, the way he is right now, skin so very, very sensitive. “Because I milked you, while you were... enjoying yourself.” He continues with a question, when he sees the confusion on Dustys face. “Did you not realise? I thought you to be more attentive than that. It’s similar to what they use for cows, although somewhat modified.”

Dusty purses his lips, unimpressed. “‘m not a cow,” he protests. He orgasms when Murai plays calmly with his ear. “You would make an adorable cow, Attenborough.” Dusty finds himself pressed into Murai, his fingers grasping at his pajama shirt, and his gaze growing hazy. “Nnnh, shut up,” he mumbles into Murais sleeve, embarrassed by the words. Then he adds a quiet, “sir.” Murai hums, and moves his hand from Dustys ear to his hair, rubbing lazy circles into his scalp. Dusty turns a mess be Murais side, so easily reverting to the pleading, writhing _being_ that he was while tied up in the bed before. “Did you enjoy yourself, boy?” Murai asks, and Dusty shudders. “No,” he retorts, his voice almost nothing but a moan. “Y’re so cruel, leav’n me for s-- so long.”

“Oh?” Dusty hears, but he can’t see Murais expressing, for the way his eyes are glazing over with need. “Do you know for how long I abandoned you to your plight?” Dusty manages to shake his head. Murai chuckles, and Dusty hisses, baring his teeth at him weakly. “Then you don’t know about how much to complain, do you?” Dusty hums, a pout on his features. “Fine, ‘t was okay, I guess,” he conceded. He moans when Murai runs a finger along the outside of his ear. “And this? Is it worth the mixed feelings?” Dusty let out a sharp breath, and after a while, he manages a nod. “Ya,” he groans, his fingers digging deep into the fabric he can find. “M’re, sir?”

Murai is the one to comply then, sliding down to kiss Dusty on the mouth, _finally_ , to rub his tortured, tender nipples, to caress his over-sensitive skin, to give him a final, overpowering release that spilled into Murais mouth and caused Dusty to once more lose consciousness.

Though, not nearly for as long as he previously had.

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna add several other kinks to this but they didn't fit. So I'll just have to write more Murai/Dusty. Not this very moment because I need to sleep because it's three in the morning, but it's definitely on the agenda.
> 
> Also, i made a LoGH kink meme a bit back, if anyone is interested https://loghkinks.dreamwidth.org/profile


End file.
